


Dads?

by RavioliHailstorm



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adopted Children, Adoption, Children, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavioliHailstorm/pseuds/RavioliHailstorm
Summary: Dream and George reach The End, but they are unprepared for the Ender Dragon's gift.Even though the Dream Team has stated that they are comfortable with fanfiction, I am happy to take the story down if they request. I'm totally comfortable with them reading it :)Published from December 2nd, 2020 to December 21st, 2020.
Kudos: 9





	1. The Ender Dragon's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> **Content warnings: blood, injuries, mild nsfw**

~Dream~

"Do you concede?" George's voice was hoarse from yelling.

"Do you concede?" I echoed his demand; my throat was unbearably sore.

The Ender dragon snarled. Her massive body, thirty times our size, failed to dodge the well-aimed blows from our axes. No one had ever defeated the Ender dragon before, so we had no idea what to expect. Would she accept defeat? Her purple eyes glowed with amusement as she tormented us.

George and I lifted our shields for defense, but instead of attacking us head-on, the dragon flicked a whip-like tongue from her gaping jaws. We hissed with pain as the slimy appendage's unusually serrated edges slashed at our exposed ankles and arms. Ingesting our blood, the satisfied beast reeled in her tongue, then heaved her scaly bulk from the endstone floor. She retreated, spread her leathery wings, and launched into the air. George and I shielded our faces behind our elbows as the Ender dragon's flight sent a gust of air, threatening to knock us over. When we lowered our arms, the dragon had disappeared into the End's pitch-black sky.

"What was that?" I protested, disappointed.

We squinted, staring up at where the Ender dragon perched atop an obsidian tower. George reached for the bow and arrows strapped to his back, ready to instigate another fight, but I placed a hand on his shoulder before he loaded the weapon.

"Wait, let's see what happens," I cautioned.

"Alright," George grunted. He returned the bow and arrows to his back.

After minutes of silence, we turned, curiously approaching the bedrock pillar in the End Island's center. Instead of discovering the return portal to our realm, we observed only a tunnel carved into the endstone. A carved staircase led downwards, beneath the bedrock pillar.

"I'll go first," I volunteered, leading George down the endstone stairs. He pulled a torch from his backpack, igniting and carrying it in his uninjured hand to light the way.

Silently we descended the stairs, listening to the soft echoes of our shoes upon the endstone and the trickling of water leaking from the ceiling. We groaned as occasional drops soaked our hair and clothing. At the bottom of the stairs lay a small, secluded cavern in the endstone.

Alone and relatively secure, George and I lay our backpacks upon a jutting yellow stalagmite, away from where thin stalactites dripped water upon the floor. Experimentally I stuck out my tongue to catch a falling droplet, and tasted nothing except icy coldness: fresh water.

"I don't think the dragon can come down here," George surmised. Warily he glanced backwards toward the staircase, but we heard nothing.

"Pog, let's go," I muttered sarcastically, removing my armor. Fanning the sweat off my voluptuous chest with my shirt collar, I laughed as George tossed his iron helmet across the tiny cavern like a frisbee. The metal object clanged against the wall, sending echoes reverberating throughout the chamber as we settled down for rest.

The End did not experience a day-and-night cycle, so we had little concept of time as we resided in the endstone room. Sitting together against the wall protected against the chilly air. Without an idea of how long our stay in the cavern would last, we rationed our food. For the rest of the "night" as we perceived it, George and I treated our wounds with a minimal amount of cloth, gauze, and rubbing alcohol. We consumed one piece of bread each, conserving our dried meat.

Within several hours, we selected a far corner of the room as the pee area. Unfortunately we can't use it together, I mused internally, suppressing a wry smile as I donned a green hoodie and sweatpants. Returning from the pee area, George wore iron armor over his clothes for warmth. Resting our heads on each other's shoulders, we drifted into an exhausted sleep after hours of travel and battle.

George and I spent the following several days within the cavern, too cautious to re-emerge and provoke the Ender dragon. Endlessly pacing in the enclosed area, we were bored to death. One could only play - and in my case, lose - so many games of 8ball.

Eventually, George and I recouped and exited the cavern. Bleary-eyed, we reached the top of the endstone staircase leading to the End Island's surface, where the Ender dragon waited beyond. Beneath one massive clawed hand lay a fat egg, about a half-meter tall.

"Hello," I greeted the dragon politely.

George and I observed, mesmerized, as she carefully slid the egg toward us; the End's source-less light caught the rough, purplish-gray surface. Presenting her concession gift, the Ender dragon dipped her head.

"What's in the egg?" George questioned.

The Ender dragon narrowed her glowing purple eyes, hissing low in her throat as she receded into the End's perpetual darkness. Her sly expression appeared almost knowing as she surrendered her concession gift.

"I think she wants us to have it," I whispered to George. He nodded tensely. Together, we approached the Ender dragon's egg. Lifting the unexpectedly heavy object with all four hands, we carried it between us until our heads snapped up at the sound of a dull whoosh.

The End's return portal materialized; its green glow faintly illuminated our outlines, sending our shadows stretching across the endstone.

"Ready to go back?" I asked.

"Let's go," George confirmed.

Sharing the mysterious egg, we turned away from the dragon, stepped into the portal, and returned to our realm.

***

~George~

From my peripheral vision, the egg's position shifted; I gasped. Closing the windows on my computer, I leapt from my office chair and rushed toward the egg to look closer.

Months had passed since Dream's and my journey to the End Island. Following our return, we separated for our homes in Florida and the United Kingdom. Daily, I cared for the egg in my Brighton flat, where its existence remained secret from all but our closest family and friends.

Standing above the egg's handmade incubator, I moved aside the metallic heat lamp. Tiny cracks formed along the egg's dappled black surface. Dark liquid oozed from within, bubbling through the widening fissures.

Rigid with alarm, I snatched my smartphone off the desk. Frantically unlocking the screen, I called Dream's number.

"Hello?"

Wasting no time on a greeting, I blurted, "Dream, the egg's hatching."

"Now?" He gasped. Collecting himself, he affirmed, "Alright, hang tight."

Automatically I answered, "I'm already tight. What next?"

"George, you knew what I meant!" Dream wheezed, then became serious again. "Watch over the egg. I'm on my way."


	2. Breakup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warnings: harsh language, angst**

*Sixteen years later*

~Cleo~

Waiting alone behind the school's gym, I sat beside my backpack on a shaded concrete sidewalk. Although my adoptive dad repeatedly offered to pick me up in front of the school, I felt self-conscious when classmates murmured about his shiny black Tesla, a 2035 model from last year and a symbol of our family's wealth.

Sighing patiently while scrolling through my smartphone, I glanced at my gray athletic shoes: gifts from a close family friend. On my fourth, sixth, and eighth birthdays, the same family friend gifted me light-up Skechers.

Faint whirring buzzed in the air. Recognizing the sound, I lifted my head until a pristine black Tesla edged around the corner, sharply turning as the driver spotted me. I stood, returning my phone to my pocket and slinging my backpack over my shoulder. Trotting to the Tesla, I pressed on the handle, then tugged the passenger door open. In the driver's seat sat a tall man with teal eyes, fluffy brown hair, a freckled face, and a glowing smile.

"Hey, Dream," I greeted. Both my adoptive dads preferred I call them by their names.

"Hi, Cleo," Dream returned. He waited politely as I placed my backpack on the floor mat. Rolling down the windows, he glanced at the empty sidewalk behind the school gym. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Looks lonely back here."

"I wasn't lonely, don't worry," I shook my head, forcing a bright smile. Dream only hummed in response.

When we reached our house, I gathered my belongings, unlocked the front door, and headed inside. Dream followed, more skittish than usual. When I placed my schoolwork upon the dining room table, he wore a frown, pensive and distracted as he disappeared into his office.

For several hours, I worked diligently on homework in our house's living room. Dream ate most meals in his office while he worked, unofficially leaving the entire wooden dinner table as my territory.

Despite our spacious house, its sole occupants were Dream, our cats, and me. I lived here for the year's majority, but on special occasions, Dream arranged flights for me to spend summers and the December holidays with my other adoptive dad, George, in the United Kingdom. They joked about once having a romantic fling resulting in my adoption, but I could not imagine them in a serious relationship.

I barely believed I was adopted, considering my appearance's uncanny resemblance to both Dream and George. I had pale skin which tanned in summer, freckles, and fluffy brown hair. My eyes were deep brown, but in sunlight, they shone honey-amber with traces of teal. My slender figure resembled George, but pediatricians estimated my adult height would be 6'3" (190.5 cm), equaling Dream.

When Dream finally emerged from his office around 5pm, he strode down the narrow hallway to check on me. "Hey, Cleo, sorry I've been so occupied. How was homework?" Despite his busy schedule, he never neglected me.

"Don't worry about it, and I finished everything," I assured him.

Observing my written notes and open textbooks, Dream nodded; he always trusted me with the responsibility of completing homework on time. He and George were the best adoptive dads I could have asked for. Both supported me emotionally and financially, accepted my nonbinary gender without question, and insisted my best efforts in school were more than enough for them to feel proud of me.

Dream cleared his throat, distracting me from my thoughts. "I'm glad you've got all your work covered, because I might go out for a while tonight." Drawing the other chair at the table, he seated himself across from me. His teal eyes blinked rapidly, and I noticed his leg bouncing beneath the wooden surface. "How would you feel if I brought Connie to meet you after our date at the restaurant?"

"Why?" Astonished, I gaped.

"Well, we've dated for awhile," he explained nervously. Connie was Dream's girlfriend of six months, but I had not anticipated she would discover my existence yet.

"I'd be happy to meet her," I offered sincerely, although I believed it was still too soon.

"Awesome." Awkwardly drumming one hand's fingers on the table, he used the other hand to open a delivery application on his smartphone. "Since you'll hang out here until we come back, what would you like for dinner?"

"How about Italian?"

"Good choice," Dream complimented absently. I watched him tap into the phone; he knew my favorite Italian restaurant order by heart. "Alright, delivery will be at 5:40pm. Is that okay?"

"Of course," I dismissed. Addressing the bigger issue at hand, I asked apprehensively, "Why are you introducing Connie and me tonight?"

"Uh, well," Dream hesitated. When he powered off his phone and placed it on the table, I noticed his messy hair and bitten nails. He doubted his plan as much as I did. "Maybe it'll be different this time." His rhetorical question was hopeful despite our shared foreboding.

"You hope she'll be the Minx to your George?" I attempted a light-hearted joke.

Dream smiled crookedly. "Yeah."

I was six years old when my adoptive dad George married his friend Minx. Despite their initial appearance as an unlikely couple, her sardonic spunk perfectly complimented his bizarre sense of humor. My other adoptive dad Dream was not as lucky. Of the several partners he dated throughout my childhood, none stayed for long after learning he had a child already.

As the night continued and I distracted myself with receiving and consuming the delivered Italian meal, Dream prepared for his date. He paced from the main living area to his bedroom, decorating himself with a suit, tie, and hair gel. After shooting constant glances at the ticking clock, he approached my spot upon the couch around 6pm.

"So, uh," he stammered, glancing self-consciously into the mirror on a far wall. "How do I look?"

"Like a CEO," I guaranteed humorously.

"Perfect," Dream blushed. Advancing toward the front door, he called over his shoulder, "If you need me, text or call!"

"No problem!" I answered, adding after him, "Good luck!"

"Thank you!"

The front door closed, and I sank into the couch. Time passed as my smartphone and laptop distracted me until 9pm, when muffled voices resonated outside. Unlocking the front door, Dream led Connie into the house. She entered beside him, clinging to his shoulder with one manicured hand and to his chest with the other. Both partners blushed furiously as my adoptive dad closed and locked the door behind him.

Dressed in a sparkling red dress with fluttering eyelashes, Connie giggled at an inaudible remark from Dream. Glossy lips spreading into a gleeful smile, she faced the main living area where I sat on the couch in one corner.

I tensed, hoping for the best. I had checked my appearance in the mirror several times, so I knew I looked presentable and not like I had just rolled out of a dumpster.

"Connie, welcome to the house!" Dream announced with a sweeping gesture.

"It's lovely," Connie marveled at the house's size and smooth, white-painted walls. Then, the dazzled woman saw me. Her eyes rounded and smile vanished. Stepping backward, she snatched her hands away from Dream's shoulder and chest to glare at me. Flaming with hostility, she questioned, "Who is that?"

"Connie, this is Cleo," Dream introduced. Glancing toward me in a panic, he explained, "Don't worry, they live here. They're my kid."

"I don't bite," I added hopefully, placing my laptop and school supplies aside on a couch cushion. Standing, I approached to greet the couple while Connie narrowed her eyes. "I promise I'm not too rebellious."

"Interesting to meet you," Connie returned, hostile despite accepting my warm handshake. I pursed my lips at her suddenly cold demeanor. Perhaps she would not mind if I were a baby whom she could mold into a personal servant, I mused bitterly, instead of a rebellious teenager with their own thoughts and actions. She wanted my adoptive dad to herself. Whirling to confront Dream, she demanded, "When did you plan to tell me you lived a double life?"

"I thought meeting Cleo would ensure you got the best first impression," Dream explained. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I lied."

"Well, I feel pretty uncomfortable finding out my boyfriend already has a family," Connie spat. Glaring harshly at me, she questioned, "Who's the mom?"

"I'm adopted."

Silence bathed the room. I blinked with genuine hurt, shrinking into myself. Dream sent an apologetic glance my way.

"We need to talk outside," Connie warned her disheartened boyfriend.

As the light in his eyes died, Dream implored, "Cleo, would you mind giving us a moment?"

"Of course," I accepted. The pair exited the house as abruptly as they entered. Connie stormed out the front door, with Dream lagging dreadfully behind.

Ten painful minutes passed; I waited impatiently by the front door. When it opened again, I held my breath until Dream entered alone, crestfallen. He closed and locked the door behind himself.

"Where's Connie?" I asked gently.

"She's out front," he answered. "I bought her a rideshare. She didn't want me to drive her home."

"What did she say?"

Dream swallowed. Without meeting my gaze, he answered reluctantly, "We won't see each other anymore."

Connie had dumped him, ending their six-month relationship after she discovered me. Although I had said nothing out-of-line, I felt incredibly guilty.

Outside, a vehicle engine revved from the house's front. Car doors opened and closed, then the car drove away.

"She seemed wonderful. I don't understand the problem." Dream muttered. "Connie took six damn months to specify she only wanted kids who were hers..." He trailed off, then shook his head. Meeting my gaze, he finished, "It's not your fault, Cleo."

"I'm sorry I drove her away," I offered a sincere apology, willing to accept the blame. Wishing to soothe my adoptive dad, I donated a reassuring hug.

"Don't apologize," Dream shook his head, although he welcomed the hug. "I wouldn't date anyone who believes you shouldn't be here." When I shrugged, Dream receded. Running fingers through his hair, he mumbled, "I'll hang out in the office for awhile. Knock if you want to drive somewhere for dessert, or whatever." When I blinked with concern for his emotional health, my adoptive dad forced a smile. "Don't worry, Cleo. I'll be fine."

I said nothing. Clearing his throat, Dream shoved both hands into his pockets and trudged toward his office. His footsteps thumped heavily down the hallway until he closed and locked the door; he rarely locked doors inside. I heard swishing sounds as he changed from his dress outfit into sleepwear. Muffled sobs followed. Dream was more heartbroken than he let on.

Wishing to help, I returned to the couch and powered on my smartphone. My other adoptive dad, George, would be asleep in the UK, so I opened a text conversation with our family friend Sapnap.

"Call Dream."

"Why?" Sapnap's reply was immediate.

"His date didn't go well," I explained. He would know what I meant; this was not the first time a date rejected Dream after learning they would compete with me for attention. Like my adoptive dads, I was apparently a mighty competitor.

"I'm about to stab a bitch," Sapnap responded.

"Twist the knife for maximum destruction," I recommended, smirking evilly. When Sapnap did not respond, I crept down the hallway. Two muffled voices emanated through Dream's office door.

"Dude, you can tell me about it." Sapnap coaxed his devastated friend. "I've got all night to listen."

"I don't know what happened," Dream muttered, helpless with defeat. "Connie seemed so nice, but when she met Cleo, she just exploded. I feel terrible. We dated for six months, Sapnap. I thought introducing them in person would help. When will I stop being wrong?"

"Today," Sapnap proclaimed confidently. "You'll be right from now onward."

"Don't say that," Dream denied, but his dubious tone lifted slightly. "I'm thankful Cleo understands. What if they asked me for a mom and I couldn't find someone?" He sighed heavily. "I guess we'll be fine as the two of us. Minx is kind of like their mom already."

"Dream," Sapnap piped up hesitantly. "Does Cleo know yet?"

"Know what?" Dream questioned, dropping his voice.

My heart spiked. Aware of my feet shifting upon the hardwood floor, I closed my eyes with straining ears. Sapnap spoke too low to hear.

"No," Dream responded. "I think they suspect something, but they don't know all the details."

"You've got to tell them sometime," Sapnap urged. "What are they, like, fifteen years old?"

"Sixteen, and we're working on it," Dream resisted. We? George must be involved, too.

At his friend's discomfort, Sapnap changed the subject, but I barely registered the rest of their conversation. Heart pounding, I slunk back down the hallway. My attempts to continue studying were unsuccessful as I contemplated their perplexing words before my departure. What "details" don't I know?

For the rest of the night after his call with Sapnap, Dream remained in his office while I prepared for sleep. Without a chance to interrogate him tonight, I would wait.


	3. Normal Color Vision

~Cleo~

In the days following Dream's disastrous date, I pondered his private conversation with Sapnap. Years of memories which I had passed off as rational resurfaced in my head. Peculiarities I had ignored rushed back.

There was a mystery about my family. Dream, Sapnap, and George knew this unspoken secret, but never mentioned it in my presence. Dream and George denied knowledge of my biological parents' whereabouts, yet they claimed my biological parents still loved me very much. Whenever our family friend Sapnap visited Florida, or when Dream and I visited his house in Texas, the normally exuberant man acted erroneously polite around me. Whereas he greeted Dream with a bear-hug and a slap on the back, he addressed me with a courteous "Hi, Cleo" and a loose hug.

Struggling to fall asleep in my dark bedroom, I groaned. A glance at the digital clock revealed the time was 12:36am. The digits glowed red, faintly lighting the fabric of my bedsheets and pillow. Red was my favorite color.

As the thought entered my mind, I opened my eyes and frowned. Staring at my white-painted ceiling, I flipped onto my back. A long-forgotten scene revisited my mind.

***

~Flashback: Cleo~

During the early period of my life, George and Dream parented together in person more often. At the age of seven years old, I accompanied Dream on a flight to the United Kingdom to spend the December holidays with George and Minx. On the second day of our week-long visit, George presented his holiday gifts to us, including a robot coloring book for me.

Today, Minx was out spending time with friends, allowing my adoptive dads and me quality time together in the Brighton flat. Seated at the small wooden dining room table, I peered from George's lap at the tabletop where he politely held open the coloring book.

Dream stood at the kitchen countertop across the flat, watching idly as he sipped tea from a ceramic white mug. He wore a floppy red-and-white Santa hat.

I dumped a box of colored pencils onto the table, sending the wooden instruments clattering onto the table; George caught several when they nearly rolled off. Together, we illustrated the robot shapes; I selected the colored pencils, while George dutifully filled in the spaces between the lines.

"What should we color this part here?" Replacing the last pencil we used, he waited for my next choice.

"Purple, please," I requested.

George reached for the dark blue pencil, scrunched his face up, then pointed at the purple pencil. "This one?"

"Yes," I confirmed, wondering the reason for his hesitation. Dream's complacent expression shifted, too. Removing his festive hat, he advanced from the kitchen island to watch from above. George did not acknowledge Dream's presence. I ignored their shared tension, watching with fascination as George carefully colored in the empty robot shape. Placing the purple pencil to the side, he asked,

"What next?"

"You choose," I commanded, interested to see which color he would apply next.

"Me? Uh, okay." Hesitating briefly, George selected a bright red pencil. Clutching it in his left hand, he suggested, "How about gray for smoke? We could make it look like the robot is malfunctioning."

I frowned with confusion as George used the red pencil to draw swirls emanating from the robot's outline, resembling wisps of smoke.

"That's not gray," I pointed out. "It's red."

From behind us, Dream inhaled sharply. Why had he not corrected George, and instead waited for me to say something?

"No, it's gray -" George flipped the pencil around to read the tiny font along the pencil's base. "Oh... you're right, Cleo. My mistake." Then, he trailed off. "Wait, Cleo, you said it was red?"

"Yeah?"

"So you could see it was red?" Dream piped up from beside us. George froze. "You didn't read the inscription?"

"No." Hoping to prove I was not cheating somehow, I referred to the other pencils, "And that one is orange, and green, and pink, and blue..." Both Dream and George remained silent until I successfully discerned every color in the package.

"Dream," George murmured. "Did they... ?"

"They got everything right," Dream confirmed. He placed a supportive hand upon George's shoulder as both adoptive dads exchanged a look, then gazed down at me.

"Why do you want to know the colors?" I questioned.

"Oh, uh," George hesitated. He blushed before pulling me in for a brief hug. When I pulled away, I noticed his frown. "No reason."

"Well, Cleo," Dream sighed, taking the explanation upon himself. "Some people, including George, can't see certain colors, like red or green, without special color glasses. Color blindness is not uncommon, and it would be totally okay if you had it, too."

"You're not colorblind." George nodded in agreement, grateful for Dream's willingness to explain. Years later, I would learn he was struggling to avoid mentioning how color blindness, including his protanopia, was hereditary.

***

~Present: Cleo~

My exhaustion from lack of sleep vanished. I sat up in bed. Donning a jacket over my sleepwear, I walked with determination toward my bedroom door, then hesitated. Where was I going? To Dream's office, where he was still awake and working? What would I ask him? Perhaps my memory symbolized little more than George's worry his adopted child would be colorblind like him.

Creeping down the hallway, blinking in the yellow glow of the single ceiling light, I noticed Dream's office door was slightly ajar. Peeping into the crack, I saw his hunched figure in his chair, focused on one of his computer monitors. Instantly, I forgot what I wanted to ask. Pushing open the door, I glimpsed the website on his screen: the British Airways page.

When I pushed open the door and entered the office, Dream spun around in his chair. Teal eyes wide, he gaped at me in shock, then watched my gaze drift to his monitor. Frantically, he minimized the Internet browser tab and turned back to look at me. "Uh, good evening, Cleo. Can't sleep?"

"What was that?" I skipped the pleasantries.

Sighing reluctantly, Dream maximized the tab, revealing a confirmation page. Black letters read, "Thank you for scheduling your flight!" above the flight date, Indigenous Pride Day (formerly Thanksgiving Day). That's only a week from now! "How would you feel about seeing George for your November break?"

I had not met George in person for four months, but we chatted through text and video calls almost daily. Despite the exciting prospect of seeing him again, I stared at Dream with disbelief and betrayal.

"Why didn't you ask me?" If I had not stumbled upon the British Airways page, when would Dream have revealed this change of plans?

"You... weren't supposed to know so soon," Dream confessed. "I'm sorry. If it helps to hear, you'll only be there for the holiday weekend."

"So I won't get to see your family?" As long as I could remember, I spent every Indigenous Pride Day with Dream's family.

"That's right," Dream affirmed, smiling apologetically. "My family and I will be here. It's different from usual, but George and I thought you should spend the holiday with him this year."

"Why didn't you ask me first?" Although I did not mind missing Dream's family, since I met them often, I was hurt neither adoptive dad considered my opinion for this decision. Did Dream not want to spend the November holiday with me? Did he secretly blame me for ruining his chances of finding a forever partner?

Witnessing my trembling lips and hurt expression, Dream stood from his swiveling chair. Pulling me into a hug, he reassured, "I'm not trying to get rid of you, if that's what you're thinking. George and Minx are arranging a guest room for you." Releasing me from the hug, he added sincerely, "I'm sorry about keeping it a secret, but it's for a reason, I promise."

Accepting his apology, I nodded, then exited the office. When I returned to my bedroom, the sheets were cold, but I threw off my jacket anyway. Piling blankets on top of myself, I finally fell asleep.

***

~One week later - Dream~

Understandably, Cleo was unhappy when I roused them from sleep at 2am for their 4am flight to the UK. I helped them load a small piece of luggage containing clothing, electronics, toiletries, and other personal belongings for the short trip.

"Ready to go?" I asked, smartphone and car keys in hand as they joined me near the entryway.

"Yeah," Cleo confirmed, forcing a smile.

Locking the front door behind us, I led them to the waiting black Tesla. Inside the car, I powered on the engine, lit the headlights, and reversed the car from its narrow driveway. During our trip to the airport along nearly deserted freeways, I noticed Cleo's frequent yawns and dull expression. We exchanged few words as they rested their jaw in their palm, staring forlornly out the passenger-side window. I pursed my lips remorsefully, unable to reveal why George and I agreed on sending Cleo to the UK for the November holidays. They would be happier in a location which did not require them to force a cheerful front for a holiday party.

Upon our arrival around 3:30am, Cleo and I navigated the airport with their luggage until we reached the line for security. Without a boarding pass, I could not proceed further. Instead, I turned to Cleo to exchange goodbyes.

A question arose in Cleo's eyes; I steeled myself in preparation. Their lips parted, then shut. Instead of asking a question, however, they stepped forward to hug me. Wrapping my arms around their shoulders, I rubbed their back soothingly, promising, "I love you, Cleo. Have a safe flight."

"I love you, too, Dream. I will." Then, they pulled back, trotting with their luggage to wait in the airport's relatively short line.

As Cleo showed their boarding pass and disappeared through security, I sighed heavily. Exiting the airport, I returned to the parking spot where my Tesla waited. Unlocking the car, I climbed inside to wait. For the next forty-five minutes, my attention switched between my smartphone and the skies until a large, red-white-and-blue plane lifted off from the tarmac. Soaring into the darkness, its shape rapidly disappeared into the 4am sky with only the blinking lights upon its wings and tail still visible. As the British Airways plane ascended through the clouds, I opened the messaging application on my smartphone. I texted,

"Cleo's on their way, flight time is 9hrs"

A few minutes passed until George responded,

"I'm ready."


	4. Daddy George lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning: harsh language**

~Cleo~

While I slept on the nine-hour flight, my memory revisited the first UK trip I remembered, late in the winter, when I was five years old. Dream accompanied me on the plane, where he mentioned his development work on Minecraft. When I expressed interest in the video game, Dream withdrew his laptop from our luggage, paid for overpriced on-plane WiFi, loaded the Minecraft application, and faced the screen towards me. Briefly he modeled the keys to move and offered guidance for playing, then watched proudly over my shoulder as I learned. I remembered his beaming smile and genuine happiness when I told him I enjoyed the game.

Later in the same trip to the UK, I strolled between Dream and George on a cobblestone path through a snowy Brighton park. When my adoptive dads spotted a romantic couple engaging in a passionate make-out session on a bench, Dream laughed and elbowed his friend. With a sly smirk, George winked at me, then licked Dream's cheek.

"Ew, what the hell, George?" Dream protested with both disgust and amusement, rubbing away saliva with a mitted hand. George and I giggled furiously until we coughed on snowflakes. Pointing to me, Dream added sarcastically, "There are children present!"

"Well, this is the UK, so you can't call the FBI," George taunted as we continued our walk.

When I lifted my eyes from the path to watch a pair of birds flutter through the leafless trees, I lost my balance. My leading foot slipped from beneath me; I squeaked with surprise, tumbling forward, bracing myself to fall face-first into the snow.

Before I landed, two powerful hands clutched my sides, dragging me upright. Adrenaline still pumping, I peeked down. Dream had caught me. "You alright, Cleo?"

"Yeah," I nodded, embarrassed I had nearly fallen.

"I'm glad." Dream released my sides as we both stood again. Only dads possessed such quick reaction time.

***

~Cleo~

I jolted from my dream when the British Airways flight landed. Lifting my head, I blinked sleepily and straightened in the stiff airplane seat. Sliding open the window cover, I witnessed cloudy skies and a storm of pelting rain outside. Airport employees rushed around in heavy rain jackets and neon vests as droplets collected in pulsing puddles on the asphalt.

Other passengers on the plane were already awake, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep after the nine-hour flight. While passengers near the front gathered their luggage, I powered my smartphone to life. Switching my data to roaming, I texted George's contact,

"I'm here"

Within a minute, George responded, "Minx on her way :]" before I turned off my smartphone. When my turn to depart arrived, I stood from my seat, stretched, and dragged my luggage off the plane. Entering the Brighton airport, I observed bustling crowds and cold overhead lighting as I passed through. Fighting my exhaustion, I stepped out the exit's sliding doors. Through the rain, I recognized a white Tesla parked on the curb. The driver's-side door opened, and a manicured hand emerged, waving before it disappeared and the car door closed again.

Immediately I pulled up my hood and clutched my luggage straps, then raced from under the overhang. Rain drenched me as I dashed through the stormy weather, splashing through puddles on the concrete curb until I reached the white Tesla. Tugging open the passenger-side door, I climbed inside.

My adoptive mom Minx waited patiently in the driver's seat. Her bright smile sparkled in the drab lighting. "Frick yeah, the star of the show is here!"

Laughing self-consciously, I flung my luggage upon the car's floor before realizing the wetness might ruin the upholstery. I apologized profusely, "Wait, everything is wet, I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry about it," Minx shrugged. She added deviously, "It's not my car." Turning up the car's heat, she asked, "Seriously, though, George won't care. How was the flight?"

"Long," I grumbled, still sleep-deprived and shivering.

"I feel you." Powering on the engine, she pulled the car away from the curb and drove out of the airport parking lot. Entering the city streets, I recognized the Brighton skyline in the near distance.

"George is fricking excited as hell to see you," Minx commented as I gazed out the window. "He spent hours setting up your guest room. It should be ready by now."

"I'm excited to see him, too," I smiled, touched at her description of my second adoptive dad. Beneath George's aloof exterior resided a soft, endearing heart.

Throughout their eleven years of marriage, George and Minx expressed no interest in bearing children. If Minx's friends pressured her, she proclaimed I was enough, ironically portraying me as a burden when in reality she was incredibly grateful for my existence. Occasionally, Minx's friends joked about how I bore zero resemblance to her, but plenty to George. Minx laughed along while George smiled awkwardly, rubbing his arm with one hand. Despite how confidently George joked with friends, he always seemed uptight around me. Just like Sapnap, I realized. It was like I was never supposed to exist, but now that I was here, they had all promised to care for me as if I belonged.

When Minx and I neared the Brighton flat, windshields flicking at the maximum speed, I spotted the home's white cube shape and lush green lawn through the rain. On the mossy concrete sidewalk before the flat stood a dark, slender figure.

George despised the rain, for it inconvenienced the UK near-daily. Nevertheless, he waited in a heavy, dark blue rain jacket, its hood shadowing his scowl until he noticed our car and waved. I waved back, collecting my luggage as I prepared to step outside the car into the pouring rain. George approached the passenger side, scrunching his face against the rain until I pushed open the car door.

Instantly, rain soaked me; droplets slid down my face and neck. I winced, hauling my luggage out the car door until George rushed to my side. Nudging me away from the luggage, he offered in a rasping, breathy voice, "Hey, Cleo, I'll bring your stuff. You go inside. The heat's on."

Nodding gratefully, I followed his instructions. Racing to the flat, I pulled open the front door and sighed with relief as a wave of heated air warmed my shivering skin. Watching from the warm entryway, I removed and hung my soaking jacket upon the rack. George and Minx were not far behind; carrying my luggage, they dashed into the front door and tossed away their wet outer clothing. As Minx locked the front door and headed to the kitchen, George greeted me formally.

"Welcome back, Cleo, I -" He trailed off. Brown eyes widening with astonishment, he glanced down at my feet, then back to my face. I suppressed a smile of amusement as he exclaimed, "What the hell? How tall are you?"

"Six-foot-one (185 cm)," I admitted, not used to looking down at my adoptive dad.

"Oh." George gaped for a moment, blushed shyly, then changed the subject. "I ordered a delivery while Minx picked you up. Lunch is in the kitchen."

Rain continued to pelt mercilessly against the roof, filling the enclosed area with a low hum. Raindrops lashed down window panes, leaving the flat in a dull, but cozy lighting. Seated around the dining room table eating lunch, our family exchanged casual conversation.

"What music do you listen to these days?" George asked me.

"I like alternative pop and rock," I shrugged. Realizing the answer he hoped to hear, I added hastily, "I listen to hip-hop, too."

"You like hip-hop?" George's eyes brightened. Straightening in his chair, he ventured, "Have you heard of Travis Scott? He's my favorite."

"Travis Scott is from the 2020s," I teased him light-heartedly. "It's 2036."

"So?" Shuffling with discomfort, he mumbled, "The 2020s weren't that long ago. I'm not ancient." It was true; George was younger than my classmates' fathers.

Throughout the conversation, Minx glanced meaningfully in George's direction. My adoptive dad received the looks with pursed lips. Their silent communication made me feel profoundly left out.

"Am I missing something?" I finally asked in a small voice.

"You aren't," Minx assured me, raising an eyebrow at George. "He is. This conversation is awkward as hell and it won't get better until George spills why Dream sent you here."

"Let's not bring this up now," George pleaded, wriggling in his seat. Avoiding the subject, he gathered our empty plates and brought them to the sink.

"Why not?" Minx questioned. "Dream must've spent a thousand dollars on that plane ticket for how soon he flew them through this shitty weather!"

"I know, but Cleo's been here two seconds!" George protested. Leaving the kitchen, he entered the short hallway while Minx rolled her eyes.

Whatever sore subject soured the conversation, it intimately involved me. I sprang from my chair, hoping to intercept my adoptive dad before he closed himself off. I would have no luck with this back in Florida: if Dream intended to keep something secret, no one could siphon information from him. George was a different story.

"George, please," I implored, following him to his office-bedroom. "I won't be angry if there's a secret. I just want to know what's going on."

"Yeah, but..." My adoptive dad turned, flinching when he realized I stood directly behind him. He faltered, brown eyes glittering nervously in the hallway's low lighting. Ultimately sensing my desperation, he conceded, "Fine. Let's call Dream."


	5. Reveal

~Cleo - the past~

During most grocery store trips with Dream when I was eight years old, we shopped apart under the promise I would not talk to strangers.

"Cleo, I have a mission for you," Dream assigned, surveying the aisles before us as he used a disinfecting wipe to clean the shopping cart handle. "I'll grab the milk, eggs, and bread. Want to grab the produce?"

"Okay!" Glancing toward the produce section along the far wall of the store, I hopped from one foot to the other, barely restraining my excitement.

"And what will you do?" Dream prompted, raising his eyebrows.

"Speedrun it."

"Awesome," he smiled proudly. "I'll meet you near the dairy products."

"Okay!" We broke apart; I raced to the produce section.

Similar to Dream, George also brought me to Brighton grocery stores. Despite preferring I stay near him rather than traverse the building on my own, he expressed his fun-loving side in a different way. The produce, dairy, and deli sections were mundane, but when we reached the snacks, my adoptive dad set the trolley halfway down the aisle. When I selected a box of crisps and approached the trolley, George raised a palm vertically and I halted.

"Wait, Cleo, toss it from there," he instructed.

"From here?" Three meters separated the trolley from me.

"Yeah. Make the shot."

Utilizing the admittedly weak strength in my eight-year-old arm, I threw the box of crisps toward the trolley; it hit the child seat area, then tumbled into the main basket.

"Excellent," George clapped approvingly. "My turn. Stay here, please." He hurried away, to the aisle beside ours. I waited patiently; this was not his first attempt at this particular trick shot. "Cleo, do I sound close?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Heads up!"

Beyond the top shelf, a box of cereal sailed over the divide from the next aisle, landing two meters aside from the trolley. When George's footsteps raced down the next aisle to return, I placed the box into the trolley to make it seem like he had aimed correctly. When my adoptive dad turned the corner, he triumphed, "No way! I got the dub!" Ignoring the annoyed shoppers around us, George rushed forward and scooped me into his arms.

Life was so much easier back then. I loved my dads; I only wished they would reveal the truth about my origins.

***

~Cleo - the present~

George rolled a second black swiveling office chair to sit beside his. Plopping ourselves down, we glanced backward to ensure the door to his office-bedroom was closed. Minx anticipated our conversation's mysterious subject, but this moment was supposed to be private.

Hoping to avoid doing anything that would convince George I were not yet ready for the conversation, I remained silent, intertwining my trembling fingers in my lap as he booted up his computer. I watched the screen as he opened a video-chatting application, then pressed Dream's contact.

"George, hey, what's going on?" Dream's camera displayed himself in his office. In contrast to the UK's miserable weather, bright Florida sunshine streamed through his window, illuminating his face. Observing his friend's grave expression, he frowned. "Is Cleo okay?"

Rolling my chair into the camera's view, I assured with a wave, "I'm here." Dream visibly relaxed, then raised a suspicious eyebrow at George.

"Then what's the emergency -?" When George looked down in shame, Dream rolled his eyes. Briefly leaning back in his chair, he ran fingers through his fluffy brown hair. "Oh my god, George, you cannot tell me you broke already." Overwhelmed, Dream leaned forward again to rest his elbows on his desk. "Goddammit. Cleo's been there for two seconds!"

"That's what I said," George muttered. "Minx wouldn't let it go, though, so here we are."

"You have questions, Cleo," Dream analyzed.

"Yes, I do," I responded carefully. "I need to hear the truth about where I came from."

Apprehension built in my stomach as Dream sighed, nostrils flaring as he gazed at me with serious consideration. Finally, he turned to my other adoptive dad. "George, what do you think?"

"Whatever," George shrugged, rubbing his neck awkwardly. Despite his dismissive tone, his elbow trembled against mine. Without openly admitting it, I knew he cared immensely.

"That's a yes," Dream translated. "Alright, we can talk about it."

"Thank you," I nodded gratefully.

"Cleo, you know how we raised you, telling you you're adopted?"

I nodded.

"Well, you only kind of are. Remember the story of how George and I conquered the Ender dragon?"

"Yeah?" I frowned, confused about how this was related.

"We did beat the Ender dragon," George contributed.

"Honestly, George and I still don't totally understand how you exist," Dream admitted.

"How I exist?" I echoed. I suspected my presence in the family was somehow unintentional, but hearing the words straight from their mouths astonished me. Even hungrier for an explanation than before, I glanced anxiously between them.

"The Ender dragon gave us an egg." George revealed. "Dream and I brought it home, but we didn't know what was inside. You hatched from the egg in my flat."

"I hatched from an egg?" I could not believe my ears. Was this the real life, or was this just fantasy? Struggling to process, I was wholly unprepared for what blindsided me next:

"Cleo, you have three biological parents: the Ender dragon, George, and me." Dream held up three fingers for emphasis. Before I could react, he elaborated, "George and I took paternity tests and tested positive."

"But you're both... male." I choked on the final word, not wanting to imagine male pregnancy in this relationship.

"See, now they're getting it." George hid his discomfort beneath dry humor.

Dream continued, "At one point, the Ender dragon drew our blood, which provided our DNA to make you. We couldn't explain how she did it if we tried."

"Why would she make me?"

"Still a mystery," George shrugged ambiguously. Dream appeared similarly lost.

"So, I was... an accident?"

"We wouldn't give you up for anything, Cleo." Dream dodged the question.

They didn't adopt me voluntarily. It explained so much. Dream and George had not sought to become adoptive dads. Instead, the Ender dragon dumped me upon them and they were stuck with me. Overwhelmed with guilt, I began to cry.

Silence fell over the room. George wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulder. Embracing him back, I squeezed tightly until he squeaked with protest; like Dream, I tended to unwittingly strangle my companions during hugs.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you earlier," Dream apologized. "We didn't understand the truth ourselves. Saying you were adopted was easier. Even though we didn't intend for you, you've always been family." Observing my mortified sobs, he turned to George. "Show them how we chose their name."

Beside me, George slid a yellow notepad across his desk. Uncapping a blue pen, he wrote the names CLAY and GEORGE. Then, George underlined the letters CL in "Clay" and EO in "George". CL EO. (Author's note: I felt like a genius when I came up with this)

Dream could not see the notepad, for it lay below the view of George's camera, but he nodded slowly as my expression morphed to one of unease.

"Who else knows?" Urgently I pleaded to both of my adoptive... no, my biological dads.

"George and I know," Dream answered. "Our friends Sapnap and Bad know. George's and my parents know."

"Minx knows," George added in a hushed voice.

"I'm sure other people have suspected one of us was your father," Dream mused. "But they would assume both of us being your fathers would be impossible." He finished with a slight smirk, as if satisfied no random person would guess the truth. When I did not speak, Dream asked softly, "Cleo, what are you thinking right now?"

"I'm having trouble," I confessed. Tears pricked in my eyes and my throat choked. "Is this conversation why you sent me here for the holiday instead of celebrating in Florida?"

"Yes," Dream affirmed. "If you were here for the holiday with my family, you'd have to hide how shocked you were feeling. You wouldn't have alone time in Florida to process, but George and Minx are chill. They wouldn't mind if you mostly hung out in the guest bedroom." He blushed, smiling with embarrassment. "I knew I'd be a total wreck when we told you. I'm not supposed to be a wreck around you. I'm supposed to support you. I'm sorry." He trailed off into sobs.

"It's alright, Dream," George coaxed softly. His voice cracked.

"Cleo." When Dream spoke my name, his thick voice choked with emotion. "I hope you know, I'm so proud of you. I wanted to tell you the truth so many times."

"I understand," I acknowledged quietly. Although my head spun, I realized it must have been difficult to lie about their relationships to me for so long. It explained their reluctance to mention my adoption to acquaintances, why Dream beamed with pride when strangers remarked upon aspects of my appearance which resembled him, and why George always tried to assess my life interests and hobbies although I visited him less often.

As Dream swiped his nose with a facial tissue, George swiveled in his office chair to face me. His dark brown eyes searched my gaze as he confessed, "We weren't sure how raising a kid would affect our friendship. We weren't sure how to act around you sometimes, but I'm sure you noticed that. Maybe you expected us to be romantic, but we couldn't be. There were a few things we worried we couldn't provide for you." He smiled regretfully. "I love you, Cleo."

"I love you so much, too, Cleo," Dream added sincerely, his freckled face flushed with emotion as he rested his jaw in his palm. "You have no idea."

Upon the end of our conversation, the rain outside had ceased into a cold, humid night. When we terminated the call and emerged from George's office-bedroom, Minx expressed her pride in George for revealing the truth and pride in me for listening. Finally, I had learned my origin story.

After settling into the Brighton flat's guest bedroom in the late evening, new questions surfaced in my mind: how would having three biological parents affect me? If I were a dragon hybrid, why was I here? If I possessed some sort of magical powers like my biological mother, what would I do with them?


	6. Dumptruck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning: harsh language, implied death**

~Cleo - the present~

Dream was barely recognizable upon my return to Florida from the UK. The disheveled man standing beside the black Tesla outside the Orlando airport did not resemble my dad; I flinched when he uttered my name as I passed with my luggage. Bright afternoon sunshine lit him from behind, shading his freckled face. Dark marks beneath his bloodshot teal eyes conveyed he must have cried recently.

The drive home was uncomfortably quiet.

"How was your flight?" Dream asked, gaze distant as he watched the road.

"Uneventful," I shrugged. "What about you? How was your day?"

"Fine." Liar. As if understanding I could sense his hiding something, he changed the subject. "Cleo, you might feel like a lot of things are your fault, but remember, I would never give you up for anything or anyone."

"Did something happen?" I asked hesitantly as Dream parked the Tesla in our house's driveway.

"I received an email." Dream replied vaguely, eyes downcast as we dragged my luggage into the house. Stale air greeted me upon opening the front door. All the windows and curtains were closed. Running fingers through his hair, Dream sighed, "You know what? I'll take a nap, then I'll be good as new, I promise."

I tilted my head. This behavior was completely unlike Dream any other time I returned from the UK. Something happened.

Unpacking my personal belongings in my bedroom, I waited until soft snores echoed through the house before I opened Sapnap's contact on my smartphone.

"Sapnap"

"Yes Cleo?" he responded immediately. "Nothing is suspicious"

"Dream seems really upset." I was suspicious.

"... I talked to him earlier"

"What's going on?"

"He asked me to keep quiet"

"Please?" I implored. "I won't tell him you told me."

Sapnap responded with a paragraph, "Well I am absolutely no snitch Cleo. I will NOT reveal that his bitch ex-girlfriend Connie sent him an email, which you could find if you knew his email's login information, which is definitely NOT the username 'IKn0wWhatYouS@id' and the password 'Infin1teFeetP!cs'."

"Thanks Sapnap :]" Despite the shocking report of Connie's unexpected return, I appreciated our family friend's willingness to help even if it meant betraying Dream's trust.

Listening intently for any signs of Dream's rousing, I hurried into the office and booted up the computer. Opening the Internet browser, I typed Sapnap's donated login information for Dream's inbox. The most recent email in his folder came from Dream's recent ex-girlfriend Connie. Bracing myself, I opened the file attached to her message.

Upon the computer screen displayed an image of Connie beside a man who appeared close to her age. Both smiled brightly, sitting at the booth of a fancy restaurant with a lit candle and full plates of food between them. She wore glitter-encrusted earrings and her brown hair was glossy in the low light; she looked like a total bitch. Above the picture read a caption, "Found someone special who's saving themselves for marriage. Btw, he's taller than you: 6'5" (cm). Good luck finding someone who doesn't mind a lying asshole with a bitchy teenage child." The words dripped with sarcasm.

Closing the browser and powering off the computer, I headed to my room. A strange feeling settled over me. Light-headed, I hid inside my closet, sat down, and waited as new power washed over me. Purple particles clouded my vision as my body submerged into a deep slumber. My spirit ripped free from its vessel. I was on a mission for vengeance. No one talked to my dad like that and lived.

***

~Dream - 1.5 hours later~

An odd sensation twisted in my gut. Jolting awake, I rubbed my eyes and hauled myself from the bed. I had slept in my day clothes; when I wondered why, the memory returned to me. Breathing deep, I washed my face and glanced at the clock, gasping when I realized the time was well into the evening. My nap was unplanned, so I had not prepared anything for dinner.

"Cleo?" Clearing my throat, I called their name. Emerging from my bedroom, I peeked into each room of the house. The bathrooms were empty, the bedrooms were empty, the kitchen was empty. No response. I reached the other side of the house. The main living area, Cleo's main hangout location, was vacant, too. "Huh." Frowning with confusion, I repeated, slightly louder, "Cleo?"

Dread trickled down my spine as I opened the front door. My shiny black Tesla was still parked in front of the house.

"Cleo?" I called into the open air. A neighbor across the street, busy watering their flowers, glancing up curiously. I closed the front door. Adrenaline rushed through me as I shouted my child's name. If something terrible happened to them while I was distracted, wallowing in self-pity, I would never forgive myself.

The backyard and rest of the house were empty. Cleo was nowhere to be found. Frantically I texted and called their smartphone, which I quickly discovered lay abandoned on the main living area's couch. My heart pounded in my chest and roared in my ears as I tore the house apart. Seconds felt like hours; what happened to Cleo?

"Cleo, where are you?" My voice broke as I called their name yet again.

Then, one of our cats meowed. I was about to shush them, before realizing the cat's noise came from Cleo's bedroom. Barreling into the room, I found it empty and tidy as before. Our cat crouched beside Cleo's closet, peering beneath the door. My belly clenched.

I flung open the closet door; the knob slammed against the wall; if I weren't already panicking, I would have flinched at the violent sound. On the top of the closet was storage space, the middle area held a rack of Cleo's shirts, and on the floor... was Cleo. They sat with their back against the wall, hunched forward, hugging their knees to their chest. Their chin rested upon their knees, jaw slack; drool dribbled out one corner of their mouth. Despite their sitting position and open eyes, they appeared unconscious, in a trance-like state.

Relief overwhelmed me; Instantly I knelt by their side, stroking fluffy dark brown hair from their eyes. "Cleo, what's going on?"

Without a sign they had heard me, their gaze was intense, focused on a single point on the wall. When I looked closer, holding my breath, I realized their irises had changed; they were no longer brown with teal speckles, but rather a glowing purple. I recognize that shade of purple. After so many years of George's, Sapnap's, and my apprehensive discussions on whether the Ender dragon mothering Cleo might affect them, our answer was apparently yes.

Hoping not to disrupt whatever state they were in, I whispered, "Cleo, blink if you can hear me."

They did not blink.

"You can't respond." My shoulders slumped with disappointment. "That's okay." Instead of moving Cleo, I sat directly beside them. Tenderly I stroked their shoulder and touched their bare foot with mine, then inhaled sharply. The soles of their feet were hot. Is it some sort of fever? I wondered. I could not send Cleo to the hospital when they were clearly performing some sort of superhuman magic. "If you're busy, I won't interrupt. I'm right here beside you."

Cleo's ribcage swelled and constricted as they breathed. How long had they been submerged in this trance? Were they lost somewhere inside themselves, or was their spirit outside their body, wandering across dimensions?

Realizing I could do nothing except monitor my child's state, I gathered a white notepad, a pencil, an unopened bottle of water, and a first aid kit. For the next thirty minutes, I pressed one of my thumbs against the underside of Cleo's wrist. Scowling with concentration, my lips twitched as I counted silently. Then, every two minutes, I jotted down their pulse on the notepad. Rows and columns of scrawled numbers filled the lined pages.

To my distress, Cleo's heart rate slowly declined from a rapid seventy-three beats per minute to a plodding forty-two beats per minute. Jotting down the latest pulse number, I nibbled on my bottom lip. What would I do if Cleo did not emerge from their trance in time, if they suddenly lost consciousness, slumped over, and left me wondering how I could have prevented my child's death.

Leaning against Cleo, I wrapped my arms around their shoulders. Waves of heat radiated from their skin as their body lit with a raging fever. Closing my eyes, I willed them to wake.

"Dad?" A faint voice mumbled, muffled against their knees.

"Cleo?" I blinked, then snapped my head around. Beside me, Cleo's eyes slowly regained their focus. Their body temperature cooled. "Holy shit, you fucking terrified me! What happened?" Releasing them, I winced. "Sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."

"Don't apologize," Cleo reassured, slowly extending their legs until their feet rested against the closet's opposite wall. Woozy from fever as they recovered from the trance, they explained, "I had to get away for awhile. I don't really want to talk about it."

"I understand." Grunting, I lifted myself from the floor, gathering the notebook and first aid kit. Despite my lingering curiosity about the reason for their trance, I chose to ignore it for now. "Whatever you did, I'm glad you're safe."

Flustered with my love, Cleo smiled self-consciously as they stood, swaying until I supported their elbow.

"Now that you mention it," they mused reluctantly, paling with nausea. "My head hurts a lot."

"No worries, we've got pills." Helping Cleo lean against the closet doorway, I dashed down the hallway and retrieved pain medication from the kitchen's medicine cabinet. Returning to Cleo's room, I offered them the recommended dosage and joked, "This is your contribution to the opioid crisis."

***

~Cleo~

Months had passed. By February of the following year, I adjusted to the reality of not only knowing who my biological parents were, but also living with them. Last time I saw George was December, but his awkwardness around me deserted him once the truth of my parenthood emerged. For the holidays, he gifted me a bright red hoodie with the letters CLEO stitched into the front.

In Florida, Dream was ecstatic when I revealed my school's Gaming Club would host a Minecraft PVP competition. My dad whirled around in his chair at my mention of the video game, listening intently as I described the upcoming event.

"Would it be okay if I participated?"

"Would it be okay?" Dream echoed, dumbfounded. Placing both hands flat on his desk, he emphasized, "Cleo, I'm not saying you should sign up. I'm saying you need to sign up."

Two weeks later, with Dream's devoted support and training, I participated in the Gaming Club's Minecraft PVP Tournament 2036.

"Remember, be aggressive, and don't let your opponents heal," Dream recommended, mildly distracted from the road as he rushed pieces of advice while driving me to the school. From outside, streams of late afternoon sunlight lit the horizon with streaks of orange, pink, and purple. "Pay attention to where they're looking and when they block their shield, and then focus on delivering crits -"

"Thanks, Dad, I'll do my best," I acknowledged. Both Dream and George responded to the name 'Dad' more comfortably now.

Upon dropping me off in front of the school, Dream assured he would be in the audience before speeding off into the street. Bubbling happily, I adjusted my backpack and headed to the Gaming Club's room on campus where the competition's participants would play side-by-side. Once arrived and signed in, I selected a computer near the club room's front and logged into my Minecraft account. Joining the server, I smirked to myself as I read my own in-game name, "DUMPTRUCX".

As the organizers ensured the software code ran properly, friends and family of my fellow competitors occupied the virtual stands. While the announcer explained the rules, I rotated my Minecraft character's head to face the rows of bystanding characters watching from the bleachers. I nearly looked away, unable to identify anyone I knew, until three of the characters suddenly jumped in place when I looked in their direction.

The first wore a bandana, the second wore sunglasses, and the third wore a large white smiley-face on its body. Sapnap, George, and Dream's characters stood in a row, jumping and punching the air until my character nodded gratefully.

"DUMPTRUCX FOR THE FUCKING WINNNNN!" Sapnap wrote in the comment section.

Expressing a similar enthusiasm as Sapnap, George supported, "GET THE DUB CLEO!"

"My baby's all grown up *sheds single tear*" Dream added.

I won first-place.


End file.
